The Only Moving Thing Jan Part 1 of 13 Word Count - 800 The bus had a kind of chemical smell to it, like it had just been cleaned. If it had, the smell was the only evidence of the effort. There was a thin layer of greasiness covering most of the interior, and there was a weird film over the windows. Despite it all, the smell was the worst part of the journey. The longer she sat there, the more it started to burn at the back of her nose, and the more it started to feel like a waiting room — if she closed her eyes, she could picture her school's reception desk, and with it came the tired feeling of waiting for something you knew wasn't coming. But that's not what this is. Each minute that passed was getting her closer to her destination, and the person she wanted to meet. The professor had shown her a picture of the girl when she first told her about the Slayers, and it had stuck in her mind the moment it was tucked back into its folder. The most surprising thing about her was her hair. She wore it braided in two pigtails, shiny and blonde, like Faith had only ever seen in movies, or in magazines. Flashing a peace sign at the camera, other arm wrapped around her books, she found it hard to believe she had anything in common with her. But Professor Dormer had told her about her, piece by piece, and it sounded like they might not have been too different after all; she liked to think she, too, could have turned out so nice if everything wasn't wrong. She liked to think. At the end of the day she had no idea what she was really like, if she would even want her there. Would even want to meet her at all. It seemed fair to her that she might not, that she might prefer to keep living a comfortable life empty of a reminder of her own death. It was of endless interet to her, and even as she felt herself falling into sleep she could see the girl drifting into her mind, whispering around parts of her brain and implanting herself firmly into each one. She opened her eyes again and took a sip of her water. Though she wanted to be well-rested when she arrived in Santa Barbara, there was no use in trying to sleep while thinking of this. The view outside the window wasn't completely dark yet, but it was getting close to it. The pretty part of the sunset had been over hours ago, and it was the wrong time of year for a handsome twilight. Instead, she looked out the window and red rocks and a grey sky, tried to count what few stars had woke up and gave up not much later. The thin layer of clouds that blanketed the sky didn't seem to move much more than the stars behind them, and it made her a little nervous. Any one who got lost out here could stay lost forever; but then, even a minute might feel like eternity in this emptiness. There was a still cold in the air that seemed to be reaching through the window at her. It wasn't a windy day, stiller than most she'd had lately, but it brushed at her face and arms like it was. She'd taken off her jacket when she boarded, thinking it might be hot, but she shrugged it back on now as the hairs on her arms stood up, and tipped back her head to rest on the cracked headrest. She thumbed the flattened jacket lining absently, watching the railing above her vibrate. Hopefully the place would have somewhere cheap to stay, at least. Finding out anything about it had been borderline impossible, even on the internet — other than way too many murder reports, ominous ly enough — and the professor hadn't thought to tell her anything. Try not to think about it. Her girl had stopped wandering now, settling down under a tree. It was easy to picture, like an animal in its natural habitat, and she wondered if there was anything real about it. The house behind her had looked nice, but that was nothing. She'd had nice photos taken, mostly at school, and none of them did her any good. The all-red landscape was fading, washed-out white stones overtaking much of the ground outside. She could feel her eyes closing even as she tried to think, and her mind filling with static. The cramped space would've been impossible to pace in even if it had been allowed, and halfway to sleep it was easy enough pretending someone else's hand rested on her arm. There were still hours before they were due to arrive, and she might as well rest.